


A Debt Paid in Full

by FalovesPa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, The Hobbit fanfiction - Freeform, thorin fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalovesPa/pseuds/FalovesPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From imaginexhobbit: </p><p>Imagine The Company being reluctant about bringing you on the quest, because you have no “useful” skills, but eventually you end up saving their lives on the journey, proving them wrong<br/>+<br/>Imagine The whole Company - especially Thorin - being angry about Gandalf’s notion of bringing you along on the quest, despite you being a brave warrior </p><p>+ a similarly-worded fic request</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**‘We Don’t Need Her’**

“Is that it?” The skin changer looks impatient, suspicious, and completely put out by the strangers filing out of his house. “Are there any more?”

Before the bumbling wizard gives the cue, the last person emerges from the house. He is another bearded Dwarf, but different from the others. His dark hair comes nearly to the middle of his back and he has a stately, stubborn countenance.

Beorn stares, his mind inexplicably making a connection between the authoritative-looking Dwarf and the face he’s seen hiding among his young oak trees for weeks.

“You must be here for her.” Beorn returns to splitting another log in two with a mighty blow. “At last.”

“ ‘Her’?” Gandalf asks. 

“Yes, the sly one. Not many are able to stay on my property so long without my knowledge She is odd; talks to herself about a land I have never heard of, spars with trees. But she is safe.”

“We are not here for anyone,” Thorin snaps. “We don’t need whoever this is.”

That’s when you come into view from the green fields, from behind the saplings, as if your name has been called.

**‘I Am a Soldier’**

Everyone is tongue-tied when they see you, except Gandalf, who introduces himself and bows to you.

“Allow me to introduce my companions.” Gandalf turns to the people behind him, and rattles off names while pointing to each head.

Trained to pay attention to details, you repeat each name to their amazement, mixed with a healthy dose of suspicion.

After you tell them your name in an official manner, there is muttering and chuckling amongst them.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Oh, don’t mind us, friend. It’s just that ‘Corporal’ is quite an unusual name,” says the white-haired one, Balin. “We mean no offense.”

“Corporal is not my name. That’s my rank. I was - am - a soldier.”

Only one laughs now: Thorin.

“You?” he says through skeptical, twisted lips.

“Yes.”

He gestures toward your outfit. “Are those strips of fabric supposed to be your armor? Where is your chainmail?”

You glance down at your scruffy black undershirt, pants and boots.

“That’s not exactly something we use.”

Everyone is immediately curious. Thorin listens to your story, of how you were doing a sweep of an abandoned warehouse in a war-torn region one minute, taking a set of stairs to the basement the next, and blacking out, for some reason, without getting struck or bumping your head on anything. 

When you awoke, you were in the woods, near the skin changer’s house.

Thorin rolls his eyes, hisses “fantasies” and turns to go back inside. 

The Dwarf with the glorified 5’clock shadow and cheerful face holds out his bow.

“Can you handle this, soldier?” Kili asks.

You reach out and touch the end of the bow, recalling your childhood archery training, and searching for the best way to describe the modern artillery that you’re used to. “It’s been a while since I’ve loosed an arrow, but yes.”

“What do you prefer? Swords? Daggers?” asks Fili.

“Actually,” you say, taking another step toward the brothers, “the types of weapons I use are-”

All at once, Thorin is in front of you, creating a protective barrier between you and his nephews. He appears much taller than his actual height.

“Get back!” Thorin warns. 

“Thorin!” Gandalf can’t believe his rudeness.

“Sir, I just wanted to explain about the weapons in my world. I think you all need to understand-”

“No one needs anything from you!”

You stiffen. Gandalf rebukes him again, but the leader of this company is not standing down. 

Thorin doesn’t know what to make of you and your story, your appearance, or even why you agitate him so. To be on the safe side, he’s not going to let you get near his company.

Or him.

\-------

**‘Useless’**

Gandalf insists that you join the company. He recognizes your strengths, and your need to feel as if you are helping and protecting, like a true solider.

He is also the only one who thinks the existence of your world is plausible, and that returning to it is possible. But he hasn't a clue on know how to do that.

“Alas, I am only a wizard,” Gandalf says, on the way toward the enchanted wood.

“Aye, he can’t even stop rainstorms,” Dori says.

You don’t laugh with the rest of them at Dori’s jab, though you want to. Enjoying yourself might just push Thorin’s patience with you more over the edge.

"Quiet,” Thorin barks at you, but none of the others. “This quest is perilous enough without having someone useless along.”

He says this to whomever will listen. And when he isn’t griping about you to someone, he mumbles it to himself.

Though your skin is thick, you want him - above everyone else - to stop doubting you. 

When Gandalf unexpectedly leaves before entering Mirkwood, you do your best to settle your discomfort over losing your one true ally.

\-------

**Enough!**

No matter what you do - whether taking on spiders, giving pushy Elven guards a piece of your mind, or pummeling Orcs while riding in a barrel down the river - nothing is adequate for Thorin. 

The others in the company are starting to put a little more faith in you. But Thorin is a stonewall of doubt and disdain.

At Bard’s house in Lake-town, after the bowman presents the hodgepodge of clunky weapons on the table, Thorin mutters that they are “just as useless as the soldier.”

Enough!

You block him when he tries to walk away . Everyone else in the house pretends to busy themselves, the air thick with the tension between you.

“What.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” You can’t stand his attitude but you won’t dishonor yourself and all you’ve been taught by stooping to his coarseness.

“Permission?” he asks incredulously. “Since when?”

“Please tell me what I have done that has offended you. I ripped my way out of the spider webs and slashed those creatures’ bellies before you could even draw your sword! I punched every piece of Orc filth that leaped on our barrels. I had no weapons but my hands, and I fought with all my might. If Kili hadn’t pushed me out of the way, I would have gladly taken that arrow for him! And you still call me useless?”

“It will take more than fisticuffs and sisterly love to defeat Smaug and Azog, Corporal. Those weapons in your world that boast of being so good with? The...pistols? Unless they are among the embarrassment on our host’s table, none of them are here. So yes, you are still useless. Now move.”

You step aside sullenly.

 _I am SO out of here,_ you think to yourself. _If I can’t get back home, maybe I can just find peace somewhere._

_And respect._


	2. A Debt Paid In Full, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From imaginexhobbit: Imagine The whole Company - especially Thorin - being angry about Gandalf’s notion of bringing you along on the quest, despite you being a brave warrior + two other prompts (see first chapter summary)

**‘Impressive’**

Bilbo begs you not to go. After the bungled armory raid, in which you told Thorin to hand you - not Kili! - the weapons, the Hobbit realizes that you may be the only one in the lot with common sense. 

After getting the Master of Lake-town’s blessing on the quest, everyone celebrates but you. You miss Gandalf. Bilbo believes in you, but Gandalf is your rock. Thorin would rather throw a rock at you.

Arriving at the Lonely Mountain’s secret door at last, you sneak in with Bilbo as back-up just in case his untapped burglary skills fail him. 

They do. 

You can’t help him much except to pull him out of the way as Smaug unleashes his fury, but once you arrive at the furnaces and accompany Balin to start whipping up a flash flame, you get an idea.

Taking a quick inventory of the dusty space, your hands start moving fast, gathering supplies.

“Uh, no, Corporal. That’s not how you make them,” Balin says, moving back to show you what he’s doing.

You don’t even look up.

“Leave these babies to me, Balin.”

“Babies?”

There’s no time to explain.

Out in the open, at the appointed time, you throw your crude but effective explosive creations at the dragon, employing your stealth and concealment practices to stay out of sight. 

Every time Smaug prepares to flambé your friends, you blast him, making him search furiously and in vain for the source.

But when you run out, it’s time to flee again. Just before surfing down the molten gold stream, Thorin turns to you.

“Impressive.”

Given the gravity of the situation, he is surprised at the relief and peace he feels at finally giving you proper credit. 

You don’t respond, but your heart is on fire from that simple word.

\------

**Complicated**

Of everyone Thorin pushes away during his gold sickness, you are the only one to stay close to him - by leaving him alone.

Unlike Dwalin, Balin or Bilbo, you make a conscious choice not to talk any sense into him. You have no experience diffusing bombs, and you’re certainly not going to start learning on one who is five feet, four inches tall.

You know all too well what it’s like to slip between fantasy and reality, to desperately seek the one, but be stuck in the other. 

You know how it feels to have people doubt you.

So you back off, and focus on trying to keep the remaining company members uplifted, checking on Bilbo in the wake of Thorin’s harshness after the Arkenstone debacle.

Your relationship with the mad King stays the same as always: jagged, complicated, infuriating.

But when he finally finds his way back to the light, he is absolutely radiant. It’s hard to look at him without squinting. Within him, there is both an erupting volcano and a calm sea as he asks his loyal kin and friends if they will follow him one last time.

Of course they will.

As you begin filing away with the others, Thorin approaches, takes you by the arm, and gives you an expertly-crafted sword from the armory, and chainmail.

“Impressive,” you say, smiling. “And stylish.”

Thorin’s face remains grim. He’s worried.

You thank him, then dash off to change. You add the sword to the collection of daggers you’ve already chosen with Fili. 

\-----

**‘Come Back To Me. Alive’**

Bursting through the gate behind your leader, your mind is working overtime. You must concentrate. The Orc army is fiercer than any foe you have ever faced, in this world or your own. 

From the battlefield to Ravenhill, you employ every tactic you’ve learned, and you quickly pick up a few more watching the Elves and Dain’s army. 

Oh, but what you wouldn’t do to have a decent firearm right now! Shooting Azog between the eyes would be glorious.

On Ravenhill, Thorin makes fast decisions in an effort to take down the Defiler.

“Fili, take your brother,” Thorin says, “scout out the towers…”

“No. I’ll go,” you offer.

Thorin nods. “I will accompany y-”

“I’ll go alone, Thorin. And I’ll be fine.”

No one argues with you. Everyone, including Thorin now, knows you can hold your own. 

But before he leaves you, Thorin puts his hand on your shoulder and lowers his mouth to your ear. 

“Come back to me. Alive. And in one piece. That is an order.”

\-----

**‘Paid in Full’**

Following an echoing, ominous thump, bump, beat, and rumble in the tower ruins, you are brought face-to-face with Azog’s flunkies.

They seem overjoyed to have found you, to take you to the summit and present you to their leader as an living sacrifice.

But if the henchmen think you’re going quietly in their spindly arms, they have another think coming.

You easily rip from their grasp after they bring you to the misty hillside shelf and you see Azog, staring you down, smirking. He remembers your face while hunting the company down. He plans to crush you under his feet, especially when he sees you remove your cumbersome mail.

You clash like the steel you both are, fighting viciously with clenched and open hands.You don’t bother drawing any blade. Your bones are bruised and your skin burns from every strike, but this is what you live for. 

The fight sweeps across the top of the hill, then crashes down a twisting path to the icy expanse.

Azog fights dirty. He punches you when you’re already down, serves up blows to the back of your head. He tries and fails to stab you with his sword-arm, unable to keep up with your speed, bobs and spins. 

You adjust your fighting style, based on efficiency and accuracy, to his: ruthlessness. 

Your goal is to just incapacitate him, to give Thorin the satisfaction of ending him, once and for all. 

But as Azog grabs a lump of your hair and drags you, sending a howl from your lips into the frigid air, you don’t care who kills him. He just needs to die.

Kili, Dwalin and Fili are fighting off another slew of Orcs and goblin mercenaries. They seem to be coming from every crevice and passage, but they are manageable. Careless and stupid, they are not nearly as vengeful as Azog.

The Dwarves get separated at one point, and Thorin comes within seconds of his head getting severed. He is not afraid of dying. He is afraid that, as many times as you've been there for him, he cannot be there for you.

But Orcrist sails through the air, and as he snatches it from the Orc's chest, he can't help but think you are still looking out for him, even though the flaxen-haired Elf from Mirkwood is responsible.

The pale Orc is growing impatient. He eyes Thorin and his nephews, and thirsts for their blood.

Azog slams the chained stone at your feet, cracking the ice below both of you. 

Backing out of the way, you knock arms with Thorin, who has left his companions to finish off the last few Orcs. 

Then he grabs the stone with a loud grunt, and throws it at him.

The Defiler growls and scrambles, slipping and sliding off the ice chunk, but he can do nothing more than look at you and Thorin standing side by side, watching him sink.

When he’s finally gone, Thorin turns to you, amazed that your battered body is still standing erect in the aftermath of the brutal fight. 

His eyes sweep up from his bottom lid, but he can’t hold your gaze for long. 

“I owe you an apology. Many apologies. And much gratitude.”

“You’re alive.” You wince; speaking hurts, but you keep going. “So consider your debt paid in full.”

He sighs, like he’s trying to release a heavy weight. He wants to say something else, but struggles. He doesn’t want his offer - for you to stay in Erebor - to sound like it’s coming from a lecherous old geezer.

"Corporal, will you consider-”

You draw in a sharp breath before he finishes. A sinister hiss and ear-splitting crack echo from below.

You’re sinking.

Orcrist falls and clangs against the ice as Thorin drops to the hole and reaches for you.

But he’s not faster than the pair of pasty clay hands committing their last hateful act.

“NO!” Thorin bellows.

Kili slides across the ice and grabs onto Thorin’s boots as he plunges half his body into the freezing water. His vision blurred, he swirls his arms frantically until he feels your shoulders. 

Fili rushes across the ice and flattens himself to it, hanging onto Kili’s legs, and Dwalin grips Fili’s.

Thorin has a good hold on you, but can’t release you from the stronger tug at your feet.

“PULL!” he hollers when he rises up for air and to grab Orcrist. As soon as you’re clear, he’s going to pierce Azog’s throat.

He dives in deeper, not noticing Gandalf and Bilbo approaching.

_Come back to me._

_Alive._

_That is an order!_

\----

**‘On Point’**

Standing near the same ramparts that poor Bilbo was nearly cast over during Thorin’s madness, you’re beside the King once again. 

But thankfully the circumstances are completely different. 

Thorin’s coronation has finally happened. The music and singing in the Great Hall can be heard far and wide.

You’ve both come to the balcony for a breather from the excitement. Gandalf healed you following your near-drowning, but the lingering effects of the entire ordeal with the company still exhaust you rather easily.

You’ve been thinking about your next steps. You still don’t know how or why you’re here. You have no idea how you will get back home, or if your company is still where you left them after all this time.

Thorin seeks clarity also. He is clueless about why he wants you to stay. He’s offered you compensation for your heroics that will set you up for ten lifetimes, but he knows in his heart that he owes you something that money cannot buy.

You need to break from your rambling thoughts. Giving his long fur drape and tailored dark garb an approving nod, you wink at him.

“Your outfit’s on point, King Thorin.”

He looks bewildered, then glances at his handsome duds, and playfully feels the edges of his crown. You laugh at this side of him, a silly side you’ve never seen before.

“ ‘On point’? Is that a compliment, Corporal?”

“It definitely is.”

“Then you are also..on point,” he says awkwardly, admiring your simple but elegant long black gown.

Then he adds with a smile: “Or, I should say, impressive.” 

And in that thin, wonderful sliver of time, seeing you bat your eyes and look away uncharacteristically bashfully, Thorin finally understands exactly what you mean to him.


End file.
